An Excuse to Call Her Anyway
by convenientdistraction
Summary: Inspired by the scene where Flynn knows a woman who works at DCFS and says, "I've been looking for an excuse to call her anyway." Sharon/Andy. Multiple chapters
1. Chapter 1

_This fic is inspired by the scene in MC 1x06 when Flynn says he knows a woman who works at DCFS and says, "I've been looking for an excuse to call her anyway." First chapter is a teaser, and the following ones will be longer. Enjoy! - kathleen_

"You shouldn't flop your elbows on the table like that."

"_God_, Sharon—it's bad enough living with normal police. Can you please not be the manners police on top of that?" Rusty burrowed his elbows further into the tablecloth, ignoring her disapproving stare as his eyes skimmed over the menu. "I can't even read half of these words. Can we go home and order pizza?"

She took a deep breath, struggling to keep her voice even. "Did it occur to you that I might have not had the greatest day either?" Her fingers tugged at the tablecloth, straightening the wrinkles.

"Yeah well they have therapists for that. I don't see how French food is a solution."

"Yeah well neither is whining, so deal with it."

She watched his mouth flop open for a short second to counter her reply, then shift into a grin. A signal he was out of excuses and willing to play nice.

"I'm sorry, Sharon. Would you like to tell me about your horrible day?" he ventured, his voice turning saccharine. His arms retreated graciously off the table, and his hands folded neatly into his lap.

"Okay stop," she laughed. "I like you better grumpy-this is just scary."

"No seriously, I'm sorry. Places like this just make me feel like uncomfortable."

"Being uncomfortable is a part of trying new things."

"Yeah I guess," By now his fingers had escaped back to the table, twirling the small glass candleholder as she imagined him accidently setting the entire restaurant on fire. "But this seems more like a date place to me."

Sharon frowned, her eyes combing the room for evidence. "No, I see families here all the time. Look, over there, that man's with his daughter."

Rusty turned in his seat, his face flashing back towards her in disgust. "Yeah well his hand's on his _daughter's _leg so I really hope they're not related."

"Hmm. Maybe you're right. Pizza tomorrow?"

"I'm going over to Michael's house tomorrow night." His tongue flopped out in revulsion as the couple across the room began to kiss.

"Stop staring."

His eyes shifted back to the tablecloth. "Look, Sharon. I know that your personal life is none of my business. And believe me, I prefer it that way. But I feel like you'd have a better time if you went out to eat with someone who's better at ordering and better at listening than a teenager."

"I have friends," she protested, feeling slightly cornered by his insight.

He leaned forward. "No. I mean _like. a._ _date_," he whispered, his face contorting as spit out the last word.

Her shoulders instinctively hunched in defense as she snapped her menu shut. "We are not having this conversation."

"Being uncomfortable is a part of trying new things, Sharon."

"My personal life is not escargot, Rusty."

"Yeah well, I have no idea what that means. All I'm saying is that I am perfectly fine being left at home on a Friday night. You'll save some money and I won't be forced to eat something scraped off the bottom of the ocean."

She smiled, feeling her anxieties ease slightly at his obvious concern. "Rusty." She didn't know where to start. "I appreciate that you—"

"Hey!" his chin jerked up as he pointed behind her. "Isn't that Lieutenant Flynn?"

Sharon's head swiveled around, her eyes jetting in the direction of Rusty's motions.

He was right. It was Andy. And someone else too.

"Who's that hot woman? Wow, go Flynn."

Her head swung back around as her body sank lower in her chair. "Rusty, please lower your voice and—"

"Yeahhh, definitely not his daughter. We should say hi."

Her stomach dropped to the floor. "Rusty, no. Please st—

"FLYYNNNN!" he yelled, waving his hands above his head as they caught the attention of the entire restaurant.


	2. Chapter 2

Sharon had enough time for one hasty gulp from her wine glass as the couple made their way across the restaurant.

"Hey kid. Who let you into a nice place like this?"

"Yeah? Well who let you out of the nursing home this late at night?"

Flynn rolled his eyes, before jabbing at Rusty playfully in the shoulder as he flashed a weak smile at Sharon. She noticed that he had changed into a different suit than the one he had worn to work that day, and abruptly she felt self-conscious for not evening running a brush through her hair since morning. She tugged anxiously at a stray strand before taking another sip of wine, eyes averted from the striking blonde at Andy's side.

"I'm Rusty," the boy said, standing to extend his hand to Flynn's date before anyone else could initiate. Sharon allowed her gaze to wander from the ground up, wondering just how old Andy's date was. He had at least a decade on her, if not two. The truth in Rusty's words from minutes ago suddenly stung as she looked back at her teenage dining companion, who had proceeded to unceremoniously flop his elbows on the table again.

"Hi Rusty," the woman smiled. "I'm Cynthia. I've heard a lot about you, so it's nice to finally meet you." She turned to Sharon. "And you are?"

"Sharon Raydor." The name tasted foreign on her tongue before she realized she had omitted her rank.

"Sharon is Flynn's boss," Rusty said proudly.

"Yes, thank you for that reminder, son," said Flynn.

"Oh, right. It's nice to meet you Mrs. Raydor." The lack of recognition in the woman's voice was obvious, and Sharon felt herself cringe at the word _Mrs. _

As she stood a little too hurriedly to take Cynthia's outstretched hand, Sharon's knees bumped the table, causing her wine glass to topple sideways. She froze as she watched Flynn catch the glass as it rolled off the table.

"It's okay," Rusty offered quickly, as he struggled to mop up the large red puddle with his napkin, succeeding only in making a grander mess.

"Oh god. I'm so sorry," she finally blurted out as their waiter came hustling over, his eyes scouring Sharon with disapproval. She could only imagine the shade of red on her face as she plopped back into her chair, watching him clean up the mess she had made.

"And what you guys are like on a date?" Rusty chirped, obviously attempting to steer the conversation away from her humiliation.

"Uh, yeah," Flynn said. His hint of sarcasm ever-present.

The waiter sneered. "Are you ready to order?"

"Hey pal, give them a second, okay?" snapped Flynn, shooing him away. "It was an accident."

"Wait, we're on a date? Why didn't you tell me that, Andy?" Cynthia teased as she gave Rusty a wink. The ease with which she looped her arm through Andy's sucked the air straight out of Sharon's chest. Her eyes darted back to the red splotch in the center of the table.

"So how do you know so much about me?"

"Well Rusty, I work at Children and Family Services so I—" she looked to Flynn for permission to continue.

"She gave us a little help when we looking for you dad, kid."

Rusty's face flashed into a scowl. "Oh you're _that_ woman. Yeah, thanks. Great job there." He gave her a caustic thumbs-up.

Cynthia frowned. "Did everything not work out with him?"

"Sweetheart, we need to get back," Flynn interjected, looking uncomfortable. "Our table's probably ready now."

"Oh, right," Cynthia replied, still looking a little puzzled by the change of temperature in the conversation. "Well it was nice meeting you, Rusty. And you too Mrs. Raydor. Don't bother getting up," she joked.

Sharon laughed mechanically, coercing her lips upwards into a smile as she watched the couple walk away, feeling the contents of her lunch creep up her esophagus.

"I don't like her," Rusty announced. He spat an ice cube back into his glass of water. "She's too nice."

Sharon smiled and reached across the table to give his elbow an indebted squeeze. "Do you know what you want?"

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna get the escargot." He grinned and raised his glass. "Cheers to being uncomfortable."

She laughed, feeling grateful at the boy's ability to instantly unruffle her nerves. After all, what was really so awkward about running into a coworker in public? Most of her colleagues were single, so it was only a matter of time before she would run into a date or a girlfriend. No rules had been broken, and she had tried her best to keep things professional. She sighed, feeling a great deal calmer about the whole situation.

But when Rusty gave his order to the waiter, who had graciously brought her another glass of wine, she turned to concede a quick glance to the front of the restaurant. When her eyes landed guardedly on their intended target, she watched Andy lean forward to whisper something in Cynthia's ear. And as the woman laughed, a sudden burst of clarity crashed over Sharon Raydor like a tidal wave. And what she realized, she did not like one damn bit.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey kids. Thank you for all of your reviews and encouragement on this story. Sometimes writing is putting two people in a room (or a restaurant) and seeing what happens. That being said, I promise to update every day or two until these two finally realize what's good for them. ;) – Kathleen_

A fork was poking at her arm, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Sharon are you okay?" Poke. "You've been kind of quiet." Poke.

She exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry. Maybe we should head home?"

"Ugh, that's a yes. I'm starving." Rusty gave the food on his plate another hostile nudge. "I tried, but I really can't eat this."

"That's good enough for me." Sharon mustered a smile, lifting her glass to finish its contents as her other hand motioned for the waiter approaching their direction.

"Would you like a box, sir?"

"No thanks, man. Just release them back into the wild."

The waiter nodded, ignoring Rusty's joke as he lifted the plate from the table.

As Sharon rifled through the contents of her purse for her wallet, her phone begun to dance and buzz. She sighed as Lieutenant Provenza's name flashed on the screen, before she looked up at the waiter, who was flashing her a disapproving glare.

"I know, I know, I'll step outside," she murmured, rolling her eyes as she rose from her seat. "Rusty, I'll be right back."

She hurried towards the front of the restaurant, using every ounce of willpower not to shoot a glance at a certain table. Pushing her way out the door and onto the sidewalk, she took a deep breath, relishing a gust of cool air.

"Yes, Lieutenant," she answered, recognizing the exhaustion in her own voice as she pressed the phone closer to her ear to drown out the sounds of cars whizzing past.

"You're not gonna like this," Provenza began, sounding equally drained.

"You found the brother?"

"And the uncle."

"Well, what did they say?"

"They're not saying anything. And they're never going to be."

"Damn. Where did you find them?"

"Dumpster behind the family restaurant. And I'm sorry Captain but-"

"I know, I know, it's my turn in the rotation. Who else is on-call tonight?"

"That would be me," a voice answered from behind her.

She jumped at the voice, feeling the phone slip between her fingers, the plastic making a dull slap on the sidewalk.

"Geez, you're jumpy tonight," Flynn half-grumbled as he bent over to pick up her phone, smoothly high jacking her conversation as he spoke to Provenza. "We're good. Sykes just texted me the address."

Sharon stood there, not blinking.

"Andy?" Provenza's voice seeped through the speaker, the bewilderment obvious. "What are you doing there?"

"Having my night interrupted," he replied. "We'll be there in a few."

As she snatched the phone out of his offered palm, Sharon suddenly found her voice again. "Lieutenant Flynn, I don't know how what kind of working relationship you had with Chief Johnson, but I am of the persuasion that an officer does not confiscate his superior's property so indiscriminately." Apparently, her work voice had been the only one she was capable of retrieving, and she instantly regretted her tone.

Flynn laughed, tucking his hand back into pocket. "Wow lady, you sure are a load of fun on a Friday night. You'd think having two glasses of wine would loosen you up a bit."

"_Shit_." The word slipped out of her mouth before she could reel it back in. She couldn't take the risk of driving after she had been drinking. It had been a nice evening, so she had suggested that she and Rusty walk the few short blocks to the restaurant from her condo.

"Such language," Flynn remarked as he let half a grin escape. "Well I supposed I am entitled to give my _superior_ a ride. I've gotta drop Cynthia off first," he sighed, looking back inside the restaurant. "Just fantastic."

"Thank you," she mumbled as he held the door open for her, feeling foolish for not having thought out the possibility of being called in tonight. She had been far too distracted to refrain from that second glass, her mind committed to not thinking about the couple at the table across the room.

"Hey, how did you know I had a second glass?" she wondered aloud as he walked away from her towards his table back towards his frowning date.

The ride in the car was awkward to say the least, beginning with Flynn admonishing Rusty for hopping in the front seat without offering it to either of the women.

"So where do you live Cynthia?" Rusty asked, ignoring Flynn's reprimand. Sharon caught a glimpse of Andy scowling at her in the rear view mirror. _Can't you shut this kid up? _his look communicated. She smirked and looked out the window, pretending not to notice.

"Oh actually just a few blocks from here, Rusty." The cheerful lilt in Cynthia's voice sounded so out of place in the heavy atmosphere of the vehicle. So much you would think having her date end early was just another delightful progression in the evening.

"Yeah so do we," Rusty answered, glowering at Flynn as his hand was slapped away from the radio dial.

"Oh really? I'm at the Palmwoods."

"WHAT?!" Rusty's voice shook the car as Sharon flinched. "That's where we live! How crazy is that I mean what are the odds?"

"Yeah what are the odds," Flynn echoed him, looking like he had just taken a gunshot in the chest. Sharon swallowed nervously, not certain how to process this information.

"Wow, that is quite a coincidence. Well Andy, I guess that means you'll only need to make one stop!" Cynthia offered, the chirpiness in her voice turning artificial.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, until Flynn pulled up in front of their building. Sharon wasn't sure which was more mortifying to experience—Cynthia leaning over from the backseat to give Andy a hasty kiss or the expression of sheer revulsion that Rusty flashed during the act. She squeezed her eyes shut, leaning back into the seat as she felt the car spin. If she wanted to fool herself, she could blame her sudden nausea on the alcohol. She heard both the doors slam, and exhaled slowly.

"Are you gonna get up here or am I suddenly your chauffeur also now, Miss Daisy?" She opened her eyes to find Andy and herself alone in the car.

She shot him a glare, throwing her purse in the front seat before scrambling out of the car and back in to join him. "Can we just _please_ _not talk_ until we get there?" she breathed in irritation as she clicked her seatbelt into place.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Flynn muttered back as he pulled out of the parking lot.


	4. Chapter 4

"So you lost the bet?" She ventured blearily when he pointed in the direction of his car.

"Huh?"

"You and Detective Sykes. You were arguing about who would have to give me a ride home."

He rolled his eyes as his car chirped unlock. "Captain, believe it or not, I am slightly more professional than the rock, paper, scissors type."

Her lips shifted into an incredulous frown.

"Just get in the car," he replied, running a hand through his hair in weary surrender.

Sharon landed heavily into the car seat, wishing instantly that she were home in bed, hidden under soft sheets. Only to wake up and realize that this entire evening had been a bad dream. There hadn't been much reason to criticize Andy's procedures or thought processes as they surveyed the crime scene, but for some reason the criticisms just seem to fly out before she could swallow them.

She allowed her eyes to close, hoping her lieutenant was done with the back and forth scuffle that had painted the entire evening.

Apparently he was only just getting started.

"You know it's customary to say _thank you_ when someone does you a favor and leave it at that," he lectured her.

"This whole night is not what I would file under customary."

"Fair enough. But I don't see why you need to be so embarrassed."

Her eyes flew open. They had stopped at a red light and he was looking at her with a smug grin plastered across his face. God, how did he seem to know exactly where to push?

"I. Am. Not. Embarrassed," she announced slowly, squirming just enough in her seat to betray her own words.

He chuckled, turning his attention back towards the road as he accelerated. "I mean god forbid the all-knowing Captain Sharon Raydor be too tanked-up to show up at a crime scene without an escort."

She balked, her sudden irritation rousing her senses better than any stimulant. "I am not _tanked-up_. And _you_ are not my escort."

His eyes stayed focused ahead, pretending like he hadn't heard her.

"My BAC would be have been well under the legal limit," she huffed, pressing the issue. "I just think it's prudent to be safe in those situations."

"Those situations where you are tanked-up."

"That's it," she clicked her seatbelt loose. "Pull over. I'm calling a cab."

"All right, all right, I'll lay off," he conceded, his voice softening though he was ignoring her request by speeding up. "But you really can't take a joke, can you. I mean you can't realize that I of all people would know the difference between a second glass of wine and a hundred percent plastered?"

She stared out the window, the reference to his past addiction hitting her with a pang of guilt for being so distrustful.

"Back in the day I used to trip over bodies when I was on-call. Hell I even puked on one once."

She grimaced at the mental image. "Yes, I read it—"

"In my file, yes in my file. But I haven't seen your file, Sharon, so maybe you could ease up a bit and stop acting like the world will end if you get a little messy."

"I don't have a file."

"Well maybe you should work on that. Do something worth reading about."

She laughed at the prospect of such an absurdity. "Really, and what would you suggest that I do, Lieutenant?" Her mind ran over the countless LAPD blunders she had had the task of documenting over the past few decades. "Run over a suspect? Leave my gun at a gas station? Sleep with a coworker?"

The last suggestion lept out of her mouth before her brain could wrangle it back into the recesses of her mind. She swallowed, her fingers straightening the wrinkles in her skirt as she looked out the window, anywhere but the bemused reaction she was sure she was getting from Andy.

"So, you really threw up on a dead guy?" she mumbled after a few seconds of silence.

She heard him sigh. "Not my finest moment."

That comment effectively ended their conversation. Their silence stretched into the empty streets before them, and she felt the weight of the day and her emotions tugging her into unconsciousness soon enough.

Sharon awoke several minutes later to realize they had arrived in the parking lot of her building. Sneaking her fingers underneath her glasses to rub her eyes, she turned to find Andy studying her thoughtfully. How long had they been sitting there?

"Look," he began, his eyes shifting away from her puzzled glance. "I'm sorry I was such a grouch. The truth is Sykes was chomping at the bit to do you a favor, but I told her it was on me."

"Why would you do that?" she asked, the question directed at herself more than him.

"Because I wanted to tell you that I think it's pretty damn stand-up for you to take a rotation like the rest of us when it's not part of the job description. Especially when you've got that terror of a kid on your plate. Needless to say I got distracted."

She didn't know what to say to that. "Well, I think it's only fair for me to put in my time. And Rusty." she smiled, thinking of his admirable efforts earlier in the evening. "He's not so bad."

"Geez, you take compliments like you take jokes."

She laughed, nodding at his insight. "Okay, let me try again. _Thank you_. And thank you for the ride, Andy."

"You're welcome, Sharon," he grinned slightly. "See that wasn't so hard?"

"I guess not." She grabbed her purse and opened her door. "Are you coming up?"

His confused look instantly told her his interpretation of her words.

"No I mean, you know" she stuttered, feeling her face flush as she fished her keys out of her purse. "_Cynthia_. Cynthia lives here."

Andy chuckled, averting his eyes to the steering wheel. "Right, because I'm the kind of guy who shows up at a woman's door at 3am unannounced."

"That's what your file says," she deadpanned.

"Very funny. Now get out of here," he waved her away playfully as he turned the key in the ignition. "Get some sleep and I'll see you Monday."

She shut the door, exhaling her relief at his departure. Perhaps her impressions of the lieutenant were more penetrable evidence than she had anticipated.

Sharon opened the door to her condo, surprised to find the kitchen lights welcoming her and a half-empty pizza box abandoned on the counter. She bent over to step out of her heels and smiled when she heard the slap of Rusty's bare feet coming down the hallway.

"So you ordered a pizza?" she asked as he stumbled drowsily into the kitchen, hair poking in twenty different directions.

"Cynthia did."

"Cynthia?" her gaze surveyed the room for leftover evidence of the woman's presence.

"Yeah, I know she seemed like, way too cheerful earlier, but we started talking in the elevator, and turns out she doesn't like French food either. Is that okay?"

"Of course. I'm glad you had company." Her voice sounded more disapproving than she had intended as she opened the refrigerator to slide the pizza box inside.

"Yeah I mean I can't say I was thrilled at first, but she's actually pretty cool. I think you'd like her."

"I'm sure I would," she replied, directing her frown into the refrigerator so Rusty couldn't see.

"And I mean Flynn's so cool so I'm glad she's cool too. It seems like a good thing for both of—"

"You know I am so exhausted," she interrupted, fingers swiping quickly at the tears stinging her eyes before she shut the fridge door. "I'm going straight to bed. Hug?"

Rusty nodded, filling the space between her arms and returning the desperate squeeze she gave him.

"Are you okay?" he mumbled into her shoulder.

"Yep," she breathed, holding on for another second before letting go.


	5. Chapter 5

Monday morning, Sharon stared blearily into the bathroom mirror. She paused, hesitating slightly before clicking it open and swinging the mirror aside. Her eyes mentally vetoed the artifacts in her medicine cabinet item by item. Considering the delusions of Friday night, she was now certain her entire state of mind had been nothing more than an aberration. One of those twenty-four hour viruses that bulldozed through your immune system, only this particular strain had been of the cardiac variety.

What was it her mother had always said? Starve a fever, feed a cold? Or was it the other way around. And so she had treated her sudden feelings towards her lieutenant like most alien impulses Sharon Raydor had experienced in her younger days—by cleaning everything in sight. By Saturday night she had scrubbed every surface in her condo, pausing occasionally to assure Rusty that she was perfectly fine or to nibble dispassionately on the food he prepared for her. She had been sitting fully clothed in the empty bathtub, scouring urgently at the non-existent grime, when Rusty had poked his head in the door, commanding her to relax upon threat that he would cancel his sleepover with Michael in order to see it through.

And so she had raised her hands in surrender, ushering him out the door with a hug before she turned to survey her empty, spotless condo, with a deflated groan. She could sense the virus storming the shores in her mind, commanding her to consider whether Andy had rescheduled his date with Cynthia. It was within the realm of possibility that he could be in the beautiful woman's condo right now, doing only God knows what—and with that thought she zoomed across the room, briefly considering hitting the cleaning supply cabinet under the sink. Instead she pulled open a kitchen drawer, her fingers searching desperately until they wrapped around the recently polished corkscrew. And with that, she went to work. Half a bottle of wine and two horrible action movies later, and she finally felt like the thoughts she had swept to the back of her mind had been dumped and deposited at the nearest landfill.

She woke on Sunday to find that she had slept til noon, Rusty having caringly covered her with a blanket off the back of the couch when he returned early from his friend's. They ended up couch surfing all day, marathoning some horrible science fiction series that Rusty adored, and she didn't even care that his limitless appetite and poor table manners demolished her sanitary efforts from the previous day. Because she had beaten the virus and was back to being the Sharon Raydor who wasn't subject to whims of anything resembling passion.

But then of course Monday morning had rolled around, and the second Sharon's eyes fluttered open it felt as though the emotional debris of Friday night was waiting for her at the door like a dog needing to be taken out, tail thumping anxiously. And when she had realized that there was not a single medical solution in her medicine cabinet to be found, she clicked it shut, stared at herself doggedly for a few seconds, and stepped into the shower.

She redirected her mind to the tasks of the week, playing over the information from crime scenes to drown out her recognition that she had pulled a shorter skirt than usual out of the closet. That she had spent more time fixing her hair. That she had insisted to Rusty they take the stairs instead of the elevator (to avoid a certain blonde woman). All those facts floated below the surface of her reality, and focusing on work certainly seemed like a better option than scrubbing the bathtub a third time or drinking herself into oblivion.

Ten minutes late. She had never shown up at the office after everyone else, but she didn't want to risk being alone with her thoughts. She forced a smile as Provenza slow-capped her entrance, all of their team clearly waiting for her to arrive to begin their recap of the weekend's events.

"I wish you were always so excited to see me Lieutenant," she joked, feeling more at ease as her eyes focused on the facts on the whiteboard rather than the other man she knew was standing behind her.

"Well, normally I wouldn't be, but I think it's important that you and Flynn fill us in on the facts of Friday night."

"Or I could do it," piped Sykes, jumping eagerly out of her chair to move towards the board.

"No Sykes, I mean the facts of the date they were apparently on when we called them."

The room shifted out of focus, silence dropping like a curtain, save Sykes snapping the cap back on her marker in confusion.

"Very funny old man," Andy's voice appealed. "I told you what happened. She was out with the kid."

"Lieutenant Provenza. Can you please follow me to my office?" Floating outside of her own body, she heard herself bark the order.

"Oh come on, Captain, you know I was—"

"NOW." Even she was a little startled by the volume her voice commanded.

She followed his sulking frame into her office, not even allowing herself to savor his frightened jump when she let the door slam shut.

"Lieutenant, would you like to explain to me why your actions this morning are entirely unprofessional, or do you need me to explain them to you?"

He turned to face her, not bothering to sit down. His face was ten shades redder than it had been a second ago. "Captain, what I would like to know is why _you_ can't seem to take a joke."

She sighed, leaning back against the door as she felt her guard fall at the familiarity of those words. "Well, what I would like to know Lieutenant is why my team thinks that is the number one qualifier for my position. Captain Raydor starts laughing at jokes and our numbers go up and the mayor is happy? Is that how this works? Because I don't recall Chief Johnson being a stand-up act."

He shook his head and she watched his shoulders loosen in relief. "Look Captain, I'm not saying you have to pal around with everybody. But every once in a while you can let your team tease you. It's called being human."

She rolled her eyes, knowing that if Provenza had a glimpse at the events of the weekend, he would understand that she could win a fucking medal for being human. "I understand that, Lieutenant, but office relationships," she paused, choosing her words carefully, "even fictional ones, are not a joke. I saw enough of those entanglements in FID to know how serious it can be."

"True, but I mean you and Flynn? I mean that would have to be the same odds as Sykes and I eloping to Vegas. Everyone knew I was just—"

"That's enough, Lieutenant. Point taken. Have Sykes brief everyone and _get out of my office_." She winced as the harsh words poured out of her mouth, averting her eyes from Provenza's reaction as she held the door open for him. She wasn't sure if she felt like crying or firing everyone to avoid the embarrassment of eventually having to join them after her detonation. Perhaps both.

Instead, she spent the rest of the day in her office, occasionally sneaking out to grab food or survey her team (none of whom were brave or stupid enough to accost her) like a vigilant hall monitor. She knew that she could only afford to play recluse for a day, but she would worry about tomorrow. . . well, tomorrow.

It was nearing time for her to go and pick up Rusty when she heard a faint tapping at her door.

"Come in," she mumbled, hoping whoever it was wouldn't hear her and abandon his or her mission. She frowned when she heard the door open, until she looked up and saw Andy.

"Tell me you're pissed right now and I'll leave," he offered, hanging out in the doorway with one hand raised in surrender. Her insides twisted as she felt her resolve surrender completely to his charm.

She sighed, closing her laptop. "No, it's okay. I'm fine," she lied. She felt heart thump desperately, like a kid raising her hand in the back of the classroom. _I'm here. Pay attention. Stop ignoring me._

He cast a look of doubt as he walked towards her desk, one hand behind his back. "It's nothing, but uh, I just was thinking about our conversation Friday night, and I thought you should have this."

She watched him drop the green folder on her desk. Her eyes moved inquisitively between the strange gift and his anxious eyes. Clearly he was waiting for her to catch the joke.

"It's a folder," she announced, unimpressed.

"With your name on it," he pointed. "I had FID make one for you."

Her fingers flipped open the folder. "There's nothing in it."

"Not yet," he grinned sheepishly as he back walked towards the door. "But you know. Gives you something to think about."

She laughed as he left her alone, leaning forward to uncross her legs behind her desk. She needed both feet on the ground right now.

"It certainly does," she announced to her empty office.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks everybody for sticking with this story! This is more of a transition chapter to set up the next one, which I promise will be well worth it! - Kathleen_

The next month was a veritable minefield, each step more precarious than the last. The only difference was that Sharon had the pleasure of surviving long enough to endure the next, more agonizing blast on her psyche.

Her agony had begun with small things, details that the uninvested observer never would have caught. But detectives lived for details, and Sharon found herself piecing together a case where the evidence was truly damning. A phone call that would make Andy grin as he slipped out of the breakroom. A bouquet of flowers waiting in the lobby of her building, the recipient's name bold enough for any passerby to read. His car in the condo parking lot at seven in the morning when she took Rusty to school. She was building a case in her mind that any rookie could close.

The worst had occurred a few weeks ago, when she had been taking a bag of trash downstairs to the recycling bin. It was late, and Rusty was in a bad mood, so she had just thrown an old sweater over her pajamas, piled her hair in a messy bun atop her head, and heaved the garbage bag over her shoulder. When the elevator doors slid open, there they were, in full make-out position. Before Sharon could slink out of view, Cynthia caught her glance and pushed Andy off of her, smiling sweetly as she straightened her blouse and Andy coughed uncomfortably. Those seven floors down to the parking garage were the longest of her life.

From that moment, every trip to her car, every door she opened at work, and every restaurant in the neighborhood felt like enemy territory. But who the enemy was, she couldn't quite say. He wasn't the charming Lieutenant who defended her at work when no one else would. And it certainly didn't feel like the perky blonde across from her in the parking lot right now, chasing a stray can of pasta sauce as it rolled across the cement.

"Can I help you with that?" The words were out of her mouth before she could question her motives.

Cynthia looked up, struggling to trap the escaping items back into the paper sack that had ripped. "Oh, I didn't see you there, Mrs. Raydor. Gosh, that would be great."

Sharon cringed, stooping to pick up another stray can. "Please, call me Sharon."

"Ok sure," she pointed to the trunk of her car. "Sharon, if you could just get those last two bags."

"No problem."

"You know I was expecting you'd be working late tonight," Cynthia commented as they stepped into the elevator. "It seems like your team has been busy lately."

Sharon shifted the weight awkwardly in her arms, wondering what army this woman was planning on feeding. "We're always busy—murderers don't take vacations."

Cynthia nodded and frowned. "No, I suppose they don't."

As they rode silently, Sharon realized that her no nonsense response to Cynthia's causal comment had startled the younger woman.

"You certainly have a lot of food here," she observed, attempting pleasantries. "If I didn't know better I'd say you were feeding a teenager too. Rusty's at a friend's tonight so I get one shift off."

Cynthia laughed, as the elevator opened on her floor. "Well, you know Mrs.—_Sharon_, I can never decide what to cook so I always end up buying more than I need. When you deal with kids all day, the brain isn't running at 100% in the evenings."

"Yes I suppose that's true." Sharon watched as Cynthia fumbled around her purse for her keys, spilling out half the contents as she attempted to balance the grocery bags between her knees.

"Okay here we go." Cynthia nudged her apartment door with her elbow, and Sharon followed her inside. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but the numerous times she had imagined the entranced Andy Flynn accompanying this woman upstairs, there had definitely been less, well. . .junk. The place was in total disarray. A mountain of multicolored files teetered on the sofa, newspapers and coffee mugs lay scattered over tables, and at least a dozen pairs of heels peppered the floor of the living room.

She hated to admit it, but it had suddenly become damn near impossible to hate this woman.

"Just set them anywhere you find a place," Cynthia chirped, opening the refrigerator. "As you can see, cleaning has not been a priority for me this week."

"Yes, I know what you mean," Sharon sniffed, catching a pungent whiff of cat litter.

Cynthia laughed, bending over to step out of her heels. "Sharon, I've seen your place. Something tells me you don't know what I mean."

Sharon smiled weakly, her eyes settling on the lovely bouquet of flowers parked on the dining room table. "Well, I should get going—"

"No, stay! Let me make you dinner."

"That's so kind but I have Rusty to—"

"Uh-uh," Cynthia grinned and shook her head. "You just said he was out tonight, so you are out of excuses. When was the last time someone made you dinner?"

Sharon frowned at the question, because she didn't have an answer.

"Just make yourself comfortable and it'll be ready in no time!" Cynthia waved her towards the living room. "Move whatever you need to move. And if the cat jumps on you just push her off."

After she sighed and sank into the couch, picking a few stray animals hairs off her skirt, Sharon realized that she had just walked into another minefield. The enemy was kind and honest and worst of all, human. The enemy was making her dinner. The enemy was keen on becoming her friend.

As Sharon would have predicted, Cynthia's culinary talents mirrored her apartment maintenance skills, but she managed to make her way through dinner using a few of the moves that she had seen Rusty employ when eating a foreign specimen. The boy had also come in handy as a conversation topic, with Cynthia giving Sharon some advice about navigating a few tricky custody issues. To her relief, Andy didn't come up once during the entire meal. As much as she hated to admit it, she was actually enjoying herself.

But as Cynthia was snapping the leftovers into tupperware for Sharon to take home with her (ignoring Sharon's several protestations), their conversation turned onto a different route.

"You know, it's kind of funny," Cynthia teased, "that we had dinner tonight. Especially since I could blame you for Andy having to cancel."

"Oh," Sharon frowned as she sat her empty glass in the sink. "Why is that?"

"Well, I know it's not your fault he has to work over-time so much lately. But it's kind of funny that I had dinner with his boss instead, don't you think?"

Sharon felt her pulse rise, biting her mouth shut as she pressed for more evidence. "That is funny. We have had a busy month. How many times has he had to cancel?"

"Oh gosh, three or four times in the last two weeks. We always seem to pick dates on the wrong night!"

Sharon nodded, swallowing to send her rising anger back down her throat. "It isn't the easiest job in the world."

Cynthia smiled, handing her the container. "Well he is lucky to have such a wonderful boss. I mean that. But maybe you could give him a free night this weekend? We have concert tickets."

"I'll see what I can do," she replied. "Anyway, thank you for dinner Cynthia," she patted the top of the tupperware. "I will see you around."

She was out the door faster than Cynthia could reply, darting down the hallway. She punched the button to the elevator frantically before changing her mind and flinging open the door to the stairwell. As her heels clicked furiously down nine flights of stairs, Sharon mentally ran through the work calendar of the past few weeks. Things had been surprisingly slow, and Andy Flynn hadn't worked one damn evening that she could recall. Whatever he was doing, it wasn't working over-time. And to top it off, he was using the supposedly hardass Captain Sharon Raydor as a convenient excuse. Her anger was practically blinding her, as she moved on instinct across the parking lot.

As she turned her car keys in the ignition, jetted backwards out of her parking space and zoomed onto the street, Sharon realized she knew exactly who the enemy was and what he was doing. And there was no way in hell she was going to let him get away with it.


	7. Chapter 7

Sharon tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she considered just what exactly she expected to happen across the street. Shifting a little bit lower in the driver's seat, she studied the charming little house. The lights were out, but Andy's car was parked in the driveway. Her wrist turned to flash the time. 9:15. Too early for him to be asleep, but not too late for other nocturnal activities. She huffed in disapproval.

The logical side of her mind shrugged away in defeat as she exited her car, ducking quietly across the street and trotting up the stone path. She jumped a little when her motions woke the security light above the front door, spotlighting her like an escaped convict on a prison yard wall. A shaky breath preceded the pounding of her fist three solid times on the door. And she jabbed the doorbell for good measure.

She stood with her arms crossed for a few seconds, realizing she hadn't actually given much thought to what she would say if Andy or his guest bothered to open the door. Nevertheless, she raised her fist to try again.

"Can I help you, Captain?"

The voice from behind knocked her off balance, sending her teetering backwards off the top step. She felt one of his arms steady her, and she pulled away quickly as if she had been burned.

"Don't touch me," she snarled, brushing the imaginary dirt off her sleeve.

"So do you want to tell me why you've been casing my house for the past ten minutes? Or is that confidential."

"Who is she?" she snapped, hearing her voice crack.

"Who is who?" he asked nonchalantly, as he took his keys out of his pocket.

"The woman you've obviously been. . . _fucking _for the past two weeks while your girlfriend sits at home!" She flinched as one of the neighbors dogs began to bark in response to her shouting.

Andy stared at her blankly. "_Jesus_, what is your problem?" he asked before turning to glance back towards the street.

"What is _my _problem?"

"Just get inside," he motioned to her as he pushed the door open. When she didn't budge, he sighed. "Look, I don't want to be arrested for abetting your escape from the mental institute, so please Captain, kindly move your accusations, and your ass, inside my house."

"And if I don't?" she huffed, irked by his attempt to boss her around.

"I'll call in a 1078 and you can explain to Taylor how you got my address. And why you enjoy stalking in your free time."

Her mouth snapped shut, fists clenching together as she stepped inside. She watched as he flicked on the lights, and followed him wordlessly through the entryway into the living room. She allowed her eyes to survey the room quickly, surprised at how neat everything was, until they landed on the photographs of his children on the mantle. A short cough intruded on her snooping as Andy discarded his jacket on the back of the couch.

"So are you gonna keep yelling at me or just cut to the chase and tell me what the hell you're doing here?"

"I wasn't yelling. And I'm here because you've been conveniently using me as an excuse to. . .to play the field!"

His laugh was bitter. "Play the field?"

"Yes, your _girlfriend_ told me you've been working overtime for the past two weeks and practically begged me to give you a break!"

His faced darkened. "Why were you talking to Cynthia?"

"She made me dinner. That kind, beautiful woman made me the dinner that was supposed to be for you."

"You jealous or something?" he snapped. "Because if you want to date her then by all means be my guest."

She felt her cheeks flare as her hands parked onto her hips. "Just admit you've gotten tired of this one and started trolling for someone even younger."

He shook his head in frustration, planting his palms into his eye sockets. "Right, because I'm a cradle robbing dirtbag. You would just love that wouldn't you," he mumbled, before walking to the next room.

"Don't you dare walk away from me when I'm speaking to you, Lieutenant!" she barked, following him into the kitchen.

"What do you want me to say, _Captain_?" She watched as he pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator.

Her mouth hung open for a second as her mind considered his question. "The truth," she said, her glance shifting to a doorway that led to a bedroom. "There's not someone in there is there?" she asked as her teeth caught her bottom lip. Suddenly she felt more embarrassed than angry.

He sighed again. "No, Sharon. I was at a meeting."

"But. . . your car was here."

"Very astute, detective, but I go to AA meetings at the church on the end of the block. We use the basement."

"Oh." She swallowed hard, placing her palms on the countertop that stood between them.

"Yeah. _Oh_." He mimicked with sarcasm.

"But Cynthia said you've cancelled four dates in the past two weeks."

He paused before speaking, his gaze shifting away from her towards the counter. "Let's just say I've had a lot on my mind lately."

"But Andy, you still lied to her," she stated, more to herself than him as she felt her resolve weaken. "And I cannot cover for you when she's. . .my friend."

"I didn't ask you to be her friend."

"Yeah, well I didn't ask you to date someone in my building."

"Look Sharon, if it makes you feel better I brought home some files from old cases I've been thinking about." He nodded towards a large cardboard box on the dining room table. "So _technically_ I have been working late."

She rolled her eyes. "Technically, you're not allowed to bring those files home without a release form."

"_God_, do you ever stop with the rules?"

"Well, I certainly did tonight when I showed up here."

He laughed a little as he shook his head. "You know when I told you to get a little messy, I wasn't thinking about breaking and entering." His eyes were teasing her, inviting her to ask the question.

"Well then what exactly _were_ you thinking about?"

Her words hung in the air between them, floating high enough that she couldn't capture them and extinguish their obvious meaning. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitating for a quick second. And that short moment was enough time for the sharp ring of his cellphone to slash through the silence.

She sighed, rubbing her fingers under her glasses as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket.

"Hello? Yeah, I just got home," his voice softened, a tad shaky. "Quite an interesting evening."

Sharon moved away from the counter, feeling a contraction of guilt shoot through her stomach.

"Oh you did? Well that was good of you to invite her."

She winced as she leafed through the box of files as Andy continued his conversation.

"Tomorrow? I can't make any promises, but I'll try my best, sweetheart."

The impact of the endearment knocked the papers out of her hands. Their soft smack against the linoleum was enough to catch his attention as she spun on her heels and retreated from the room.

"Sharon, wait," his voice followed her. "Damn it, Sharon, will just hold on one—"

But the front door had already slammed behind her.

By the time she arrived back at her condo, Sharon decided that her problems were nothing a job transfer and a good real estate agent couldn't solve. And before she allowed her body to melt into her mattress, she decided a few glasses of wine would be cheaper and work just as well.

It was all quite amusing, now that she thought about it. For the last month, her mind had felt more cluttered than Cynthia's coffee table, but now only a single track spun round her mind in clarity. _Stick to the rules, and you won't get burned_. Every officer had to learn it at one point or another. And after twenty-five years of towing the line, her number had finally come up, sending her into an emotional spiral that a thirteen year old would have handled with more tact.

But now at least, she was able to smile into her pillow as sleep tugged at her brain, relieved that she was able to sort through the absurdity and tuck it away as that one silly smudge on her otherwise spotless record.

A smudge, apparently, who was content to jerk her out of her dreams at three o'clock in the morning with an impatient pounding on her front door. She swiped randomly at the corners of her unaided eyes, navigating barefoot across the blurry darkness.

"Look," she began before she had even finished swinging the door open. "I don't know what you think you're—"

"Ask me again," he insisted.

She blinked, confusion slowing her rapid pulse as her hand tugged her oversized T-shirt back up her shoulder. "Ask you what?"

"Ask me what I was thinking."

She opened her mouth, but the words weren't there. She was too busy watching his hands move towards her, coaxing her. Causing her eyelids to slip shut as she felt his thumbs run over the swell of her hips, pressing her back into the doorway. His lips still startled her, sending her head thumping backwards against the wall as she answered just as eagerly, but she held on. She held on, and she pulled him in.


	8. Chapter 8

"Sharon?"

Her fingers swiped at her face. Wet. Why was her cheek wet?

"Sharon, wake up."

Another fat drop of water landed on her nose. The ceiling was leaking?

"Sharon, it's 7:30."

Her eyes opened to find Rusty's head hovering over her.

"Oh good, you're alive."

She sighed, pulling her arm up to shield her face. "Why is your hair dripping?"

"Because it's pouring rain outside, and you never gave me an umbrella."

"That's because it never rains in Los Angeles."

"Yeah, well it is today." He shook his head fiercely, like a wet dog, pelting her with beads of water.

She groaned as she sat up, fighting gravity's persuasion to just sink back into her pillow. "I thought Michael's mom was taking you to school," her voice was hoarse as she reached for her glasses on the bedside table, only to find that they were missing.

"She's waiting downstairs in her car. I forgot my math book. And I figured you'd already be at work. Are you sick or something?"

_Work_. Yes, why wasn't she at work? And then she remembered.

"Not exactly," she frowned, thinking of the fastest lie as the events of the night flooded her memory and woke her body. "I took the day off."

"You took a day off from work?" Rusty repeated incredulously. "Are you sure you're not sick?" He placed the back of his wet hand on her forehead.

She faked a laugh and pulled the covers up. "Yes, I have some messes I need to clean up." Not _exactly_ a lie.

The boy frowned, obviously confused by the change in her animated morning persona. "Okay, well are you picking me up? I have chess club after school."

"Of course," she smiled, waving him away. "Now get going. You don't want to be late. There's an umbrella hanging in the hall closet."

She collapsed back into the bed, listening as Rusty's sneakers squished down the hallway, most definitely leaving a wet trail behind them. When she heard the front door slam, she pulled the covers over her head, hiding from the day.

Work. She could call in sick today, but Rusty would know something was up if she didn't go in tomorrow, and she wasn't particularly fond of lying to the boy.

"I could always retire," she mumbled to herself, reaching a hand out from under the safety of her sheets, patting blindly on the table until her fingers latched around her cell phone. Which, as if on cue, had begun to ring.

"Hello?" she croaked.

"We were just wondering if you were going to be joining us, Captain. I know how essential our Thursday morning meetings are to you. "

Her eyes rolled in response to the familiar voice. "Thank you, Lieutenant Provenza. I'm not actually feeling well this morning and I'd hate to share whatever bug it seems I've acquired."

"Well, apparently you've already given it to Flynn because he just called out too."

She winced, not allowing herself to consider the details of that conversation. "Lieutenant Flynn is sick?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry Captain. He's probably infected with a case of rainy day lazy. Or maybe a late night with the girlfriend."

"Lieutenant," she swallowed hard, "I don't think it's appropriate for you to speak to me about a colleague that way."

"Of course, Captain," Provenza's voice answered sarcastically. "Just attempting to be human. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't. I'll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant."

Sharon allowed herself a few deep breaths before emerging from her shell of denial. Her feet planted themselves onto the cold floor, careful not to slip on the small puddle Rusty had left. And she abandoned her bedroom in a daze, not bothering to make the bed for the first time in god knows how many years. She wandered into the bathroom, and her hand slapped the faucet on the shower as hot as it would go. While she waited, she stared at her blurry reflection in the mirror skeptically, before she abandoned her pajamas and stepped into the shower. Her mind hit replay before she could pull the plug.

They had stumbled backwards into the entry way as his foot had knocked the door shut behind them, the light from the hallway abandoning them to the darkness. Hands explored what her eyes could not, her fingers tugging at the fabric of his shirt as their mouths stayed locked. She had ignored the sound of her keys clattering to the floor as Andy guided her hips backwards, bumping into the entrance table.

"The kid?" he mumbled between kisses, his palms cautiously inching up her ribcage.

"Not here," she had breathed back, hooking her leg behind his as she pulled him closer. She wouldn't have to think about where this was going, as long as they got there as quickly as possible.

Andy seemed to have other ideas on his mind. By the time they landed on the living room couch, the frenzied heat that had sparked in the doorway had decelerated into a slow burn. His hands intercepted her tugging at his zipper, lacing his fingers through hers as he silenced her sigh of frustration with his lips. She couldn't remember how long they had just sat there kissing, his soft touches never lingering long enough to give her a reason to protest or panic. But at some point it began to all felt too familiar, too polite, too sweet, and her mind was dizzy with the messages his ministrations communicated. The part of her that was still coherent wondered if all this would have happened at his place earlier in the evening. If Cynthia hadn't called.

_Cynthia_.

She knew they had both felt her body tense when he pulled back, allowing her a quick second to catch her breath. "Cynthia," she exhaled, announcing the woman's name to the dark room.

His expression was hidden as she heard him sigh. "What do you want me to say?" he asked quietly.

She leaned across the couch, flicking the lamp on. A lit room made things less dangerous. Andy was staring down at the rug, palms balanced on his knees.

"I don't want you to say anything. Just go home, and this never happened."

He looked up at her skeptically, and she instantly wished she had worn something nicer to bed than her old pajamas. "Yeah sure, cause denial has worked really well for us."

Her hand parked itself on his shoulder, more to keep him at a comfortable distance than to provide sympathy. Sharon had lowered the walls too many times that evening, and wasn't about to do it again. She cleared her throat, "I have a responsibility to my job, Lieutenant, and you—"

"Jesus, Sharon, you can't just call me by rank and expect—"

"You have a responsibility to that woman—" she continued, hearing her voice crack slightly.

"What do you want me to do?" he interrupted, bolting up off of the couch like he had been burned. "Go up to her place and break up with her right now? Because I will." His face darkened, and she could tell he was serious.

"Why would you do that?" she shot him a puzzled look.

"Why would I do that?" His shout was more directed towards himself than her and he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "Why would I-"

"Obviously, you have issues controlling yourself around women," she pointed out, wincing slightly when she recognized the supervisory tone her voice had taken. Knowing she wasn't quite prepared for the answer he may have been about to give her.

"Controlling myself? You were the one who showed up at my house!"

"Because you were lying to your _girlfriend_!"she shouted back as she stood up to face him, her heart pounding angrily.

"Please," he rolled his eyes. "You showed up because the thought of me with anyone else drives you fucking _crazy_ and you're too proud to admit that."

"Get out!" she thundered, her arm shooting up to point towards the door. "Get the hell out of here."

He reached toward her. "Sharon, I'm sorry, can we just please—"

"GET OUT!" she pleaded, losing her resolve completely as she felt her cheeks grow damp. She took a step backwards, knowing that if he tried to comfort her she would completely break. Her arm was shaking as it stayed locked in the direction of the door, but she couldn't bring her eyes to meet his again.

And so he had left, picking his jacket off the floor, his shoulders shrinking in defeat. And she sank back into the couch, expecting to hear him slam his way out of her condo. Instead, she heard keys gently being placed in their dish on the table, and the soft click of the front door closing behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

_Hey kids-thanks for sticking with this story! Only a few chapters left! - Kathleen_

Three trips. It had taken Sharon three trips on the elevator to make it all the way to her office the next day. During the first attempt, her finger had shot out to push a smaller number when she chickened out. The second time, she had made it all the way to the seventh floor, but decided that she had probably left something very important in her car. And on the third attempt, just as she had taken a deep breath and triumphantly jabbed the number 7, a hand shot out to catch the closing doors.

"Hold on there, Captain, none of us are young enough to take the stairs," Provenza's voice announced from the other side of the elevator doors. She took a step backwards, cornered by the sight of Provenza and Andy joining her in the enclosed space. Her eyes shot down to her shoes as they rode up in silence.

"Neither one of you breathe on me," Provenza grumbled. "I don't want whatever mystery disease you have."

"I'm fine," both she and Andy replied simultaneously. Provenza turned to look at her skeptically, before shaking his head and following Flynn out of the elevator when the doors slid opened, leaving her the last to retreat. So much for courtesy.

The entirety of the day she played whack-a-mole with her emotions. As soon as everything appeared to retreat to normalcy, she would catch Andy staring at her or catch her own imagination finishing what she had sense enough to stop two nights ago. He was probably anticipating her calling him into her office and firing him any second now. And she expected that thought would bring her some satisfaction, to claim some of the smugness she'd reward herself for inspiring fear in her subordinates. Feeling sorry for him just made her stomach turn.

In her mind, she attempted to rub pieces of their brief and stinging conversation together, trying to kindle a spark of anger that could get her focused enough to complete her work. Anger she could work with, a familiar colleague. But the jolt of empathy she suddenly felt for a man who had justified cheating because of her own supposed jealousy was enough to make her retreat back into her office for the afternoon with her palms pressed against her face.

Eventually, she heard a knock on the door. She exhaled her relief when she saw that it was Sanchez.

"Excuse me, Ma'am," he entered, always polite. "I need you to sign this."

"Of course." She scooted her chair back as he dropped a greeting card on her desk rather than paperwork. "What's this?"

"It's Andy's birthday card. You weren't here to sign it yesterday."

She blinked, staring at the cartoon old man on the front of the card. "Today is his birthday?"

"No Ma'am, I believe it's on Sunday. "

Sharon opened the card, glancing over everyone's brief but warm messages to Flynn, even allowing herself to chuckle slightly from Provenza's message. She looked up after a minute, realizing that Julio was still standing in front of her desk.

"You want me to sign it now, and give it back to you?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She looked back down at the card, skeptically eyeing a blank space in the corner. "Right. You know, why don't I keep it, and then get Rusty to sign it when he's dropped off this afternoon? He'd hate not to have the chance."

Sanchez nodded, leaving her to her thoughts. She picked up a pen, biting the end of it as she thought. After a few failed attempts, she pulled open the top drawer of her desk, pinching the card between her fingers like a dead animal and dropping it into the space before slamming the drawer.

Finally it all made sense. Andy had the means and the opportunity of playing whatever game he was intent on winning with her, and now she understood his motive. Birthdays never gave you much pleasure once you reached a certain age, and his advances towards her had been some sort of mid-life, no, she shook her head, _three-quarter life_ crisis. Screwing his boss had represented some sort of chauvinistic goal post to mark his vitality, and in the process she had misinterpreted his pursuit as some sort of endearing aspect of his personality. As some sort of evidence that he cared about her. The competing evidence to this crime lay in the truth of how he had touched her two nights ago, but she pushed it to a very far corner of her mind. Anger was easier. So she let the spark catch.

She burst out of her office, half ready to fire him as she barked at Provenza, who was waiting for the elevator, to go retrieve his colleague.

"He's out, Captain. We sent him with Tao to check out the suspect's vehicle."

"And since when do you make that call?" she snapped, crossing her arms.

Provenza hesitated before speaking. "To be brutally honest, Captain, you haven't been giving the "approach me for directions" vibe today. And more important, we had to get Flynn out of here to set up the party."

"The party." She parroted, feeling the color drain from her face as she watched Rusty suddenly step out of the elevator with a blonde companion.

"Wow, it's so nice up here!" Cynthia observed as she shifted her grip on the giant cardboard box she was carrying.

"Hey Sharon, look who I ran into downstairs." Rusty was carrying a similar box, with a giant piñata donkey head poking out the top.

"I'd give you a hug but my arms are a little full," Cynthia smiled as she handed the box to Provenza. "There, much better," she laughed as she stepped forward to squeeze Sharon, who was still too shocked to do anything except stand stiffly in her embrace.

"I had so much fun on Wednesday night, we really should do that again!"

"We should," Sharon managed to stutter.

"What happened on Wednesday night?" Rusty asked her as they followed Provenza to the break room.

"Nothing," Sharon mouthed to the boy, the scowl on her face shutting him up quickly.

"Andy's going to be so surprised!" Cynthia chirped as she began to pull gaudily colored streamers and uninflated balloons out of the boxes they had set on the table. "I haven't even seen him in a week at least."

Sharon turned to Rusty, but before the suggestion could exit her mouth, he interrupted her.

"We're staying," he insisted. "We never do anything fun here. Plus there's cake and we never have cake."

"I will buy you twenty cakes," she pleaded quietly. But the boy shook his head, took a huge gulp of air, and started blowing up an orange balloon.

Surprised wouldn't begin to describe the look on Flynn's face when Tao opened the door to the dark break room two hours later and everyone except her yelled, "Happy Birthday!" Sharon's mind was a thesaurus when she needed it to be, but there was no word for his expression. Although it did remind her of the flash of doom plastered across a suspect's face when the trump card of evidence was laid out on the table.

Whatever his expression conveyed, she couldn't get a glimpse of it long enough before Cynthia jumped into his arms and gave him a giant kiss. Rusty made a choking sound, everyone else clapped, and she just shoved her hands in the pockets of her blazer.

_The thought of me with anyone else drives you fucking __crazy__ and you're too proud to admit that. _She winced as his words replayed in her mind, silently lamenting that there was no alcohol at this party. She watched as he made his way around the room, giving everyone a hug or a pat on the back. And when he stopped to jab Rusty on the shoulder playfully when the boy made another crack about his age, his eyes caught her own, apologetic enough to make her panic.

"Captain," he nodded, holding out his hand.

"We forgot your card," she blurted, leaving him standing there as she side stepped him and rushed into the hallway. She let out the breath she had been holding as she sank back against the door to her office, closing her eyes and allowing herself just a second of peace. Which ended quickly as she lurched forward and almost lost her balance, the door opening behind her.

"Sharon, are you okay?"

She willed herself to smile when she saw the look of genuine concern on the boy's face.

"Yes, of course." She knew they both could hear the crack in her voice, so she coughed to clear her throat as she moved towards her desk. "I just forgot to bring Lieutenant Flynn's card. Which you need to sign."

She pulled out the card and handed it to the boy, who sat down and scribbled a short message to his friend. When he finished, he paused to read the other messages.

"Aren't you gonna sign it?"

"Umm, sure," she grabbed the pen from his hand and leaned over the desk, hesitating slightly before scribbling her signature in the bottom corner. _Captain Sharon Raydor._ At the moment, that was all she could give him. Rusty frowned as he watched her stuff the card in the envelope, but he stayed silent.

"You know, we can go if you want," he finally offered as they moved back down the hallway. "I don't need cake."

"It's okay. Everything is fine," she assured herself more than him as they stopped in front of the break room, watching as the glare of a multitude of lit birthday candles bled through the glass window.

"Make a wish!" Sykes reminded Andy as he leaned down over the cake.

And for the briefest moment, he looked up, met her glance through the window, and took a deep breath.


	10. Chapter 10

_One more chapter after this one! Thanks to everyone who has stuck with the story. - Kathleen_

Sharon stared at the empty Tupperware container sitting on her kitchen counter. 48 hours had passed since the birthday party, and every time she would pass the container, she would shoot a very disapproving look at it. A part of her wanted to be able to respond like an adult to the whole situation. But that chunk of lucidity quickly surrendered the moment she realized that Rusty could do the dirty work for her.

"Isn't it Flynn's birthday today?" he asked as she gently pushed him out into the hallway. "What if I walk in and they're like, doing it?"

Sharon frowned as she handed the plastic container to the boy. "She's probably not even there."

"Well then why am I going right now?"

"You can set it outside in the hallway if no one's home."

"God, why do you hate her so much?"

"Rusty," she began, pausing to choose her words carefully. "I don't _hate_ her. I just know she'll invite me in if I go over there."

"You could always just mail it to her."

"Just go," she put her hands on his shoulders, turned him 180 degrees and nudged him towards the elevator. He gave her a quick salute before trudging down the hallway in his bare feet.

She parked herself on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen as she waited for her reluctant accomplice to return. After five minutes had passed, she imagined a hostage situation where Rusty was pushing a mangy cat off of his lap while Cynthia prepared him another container full of dubious cooking. After another five minutes, her mind conjured another scenario where Rusty, Cynthia, and Andy were laughing at her for being too chicken to show her face. By then she had mustered enough gumption to go and retrieve the boy, but instead the front door creaked open. Sharon fell back onto the couch quickly, crossing her legs and grabbing a book off of the coffee table in a hopeless attempt to conceal her vested interested in the teenager's testimony.

"Hey, I was wondering if you were ever coming back."

Rusty grunted, falling down on the couch next to her.

"Was she there?"

The boy nodded solemnly. "Yeah, she was definitely there."

"Did she say anything?"

He sighed, putting his feet on the coffee table. "Sharon, I think you should go up there."

"Why?"

"She was like, crying and stuff."

"Crying?"

"Well not when she opened the door, but I could tell. Her face was all like red and puffy."

"Oh," she frowned at the carpet. "Well, it's not our business. I don't think she'd want me intruding."

"Actually, she was asking if you were around. I don't think she has a lot of friends."

"But she didn't ask specifically for me to go up there."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Sharon, I wasn't born yesterday. I know how girls are. They never _specifically_ tell you what they want."

"Women," she corrected him.

"Fine, I know how _women_ are. Just go up there. What's the worst that could happen? You come home with another gross meal? Big deal, you'll survive," he grinned knowingly and patted her on the shoulder.

She eyed him skeptically. "And you'll come rescue me if I'm not back in a half hour?"

"Take your cell phone and I promise I'll call you and tell you the condo is on fire."

Five minutes later she was scowling in front of the younger woman's door, knocking softly enough to almost ensure her escape. Instead, the door swung open and Sharon had to blink a few times before surveying the woman ushering her in. Rusty was right—Cynthia's eyes were red and puffy, hiding behind a pair of glasses Sharon had never seen before. Even though it was only 5pm, she was in her pajamas, which were covered by a ratty green bathrobe with tissues spilling out of the pockets.

"Rusty said-" Sharon stopped in the doorway, before taking a step backwards as she surveyed Cynthia's appearance. "I don't want to bother you."

"Oh god, I must really look horrible," Cynthia frowned as she looked down at her pajamas. Sharon watched as she pulled a used tissue out of her bathrobe and blew her nose rather inelegantly. "Come on in," she waved her in with the tissue.

"Are you sick?" Sharon ventured.

"I wish. No, I'm just a little wounded," Cynthia replied as she stuffed the paper back into her robe. Sharon watched as she gathered a large pile of newspapers in her arms to make a space for her on the couch. "Of course, I should have seen this coming, but you're the detective, not me!"

A flash of clarity struck her as she joined the woman on the couch. She opened her mouth to pose the question but nothing came out as she watched Cynthia swipe at the corners of her eyes. They sat in silence for a few seconds, as Sharon wrung her hands together uncomfortably, vetoing her premonition to consider instead that maybe a family member had died.

Cynthia finally spoke. "Andy broke up with me." The sentence sounded so matter of fact as the woman scratched the ears of the wiry grey cat that had just hopped into her lap.

Her mind attempted to assemble some comforting phrase to soothe her companion, but all she could think of was Andy's threat earlier in the week to do just what Cynthia had reported. Her stomach turned as she wondered just how much Cynthia knew about the situation.

"I'm sorry," she finally offered, very quietly. "He shouldn't have done that."

Cynthia nodded. "I can't say it was a surprise the way he had been acting the past few weeks. To think I was so _stupid_ to believe that a birthday party would help."

"When did this happen?"

"Friday night after his party."

"Good grief," Sharon sighed, feeling a sudden flare of anger towards her colleague. "What a jerk."

"Oh no, Sharon, don't say that," Cynthia patted her hand as the cat hopped onto the coffee table, knocking over the tupperware that Rusty had returned. "We never said we were exclusive, and I never bothered to press the issue. It was just...I don't know it was just fun. And the sex was so good that I didn't—"

"That's _really_ not my business," Sharon blurted, feeling her face flush. "I know Andy and he probably just got scared and couldn't commit. You deserve better."

"You know, at first I thought the same thing," Cynthia mused, brushing the cat hair off of her robe. "But when he said he was in love with someone else I couldn't be mad at him. He was just being honest."

"He . . .what?"

"He was just being honest."

"No, the part before that."

"Oh, he said he was in love with someone else and it wasn't fair to lead me on."

In a stroke of pure luck, Cynthia must have interpreted the stupefied expression on her face as legitimate concern. Sharon swallowed as the woman squeezed her hand between her own, silently commanding her own heart to slow down enough to let her brain form the right words.

"Anyway, don't worry about little me. I'll be fine by tomorrow and ready to try again. I'm so lucky to have you as a friend, Sharon. I mean look at you—you don't need a guy and you have such a lovely life. You're gonna have to teach me how you do that."

Sharon half-laughed, half-whimpered as the woman leaned in to give her a brief hug.

"I should go," she murmured as she pulled away from the woman's arms, no longer trusting her ability to play it cool. "Let me know if you need anything," she said as she rose from the couch, "And don't hesitate to come visit Rusty and myself. I mean that."

Cynthia frowned as she stood, clearly not ready for her confidant to escape so quickly. "Okay, I'll do that."

"Good, okay, good." Sharon added nervously as she made her way towards the door.

"Oh and Sharon, one more thing."

She turned back, the door half open. "Yes?"

"Watch out for Andy, okay? He needs people there for him if his heart gets stomped on. And please, don't hate him for my sake."

She waited for a flash of perception in the woman's eyes to communicate a deeper meaning behind her words, but there was none.

"I won't," she shook her head, promising herself more than Cynthia as she closed the door. She took a deep breath, letting her head fall back against the door as she summoned the energy to make her way back to her condo.

Suddenly she felt her phone buzz in her pocket, and she allowed herself a small smile as pulled it out and saw Rusty's name on the screen.

"The apartment's on fire." His voice was clearly unimpressed with the announcement.

"Yes, thank you I'm actually heading downstairs right now."

"Is Cynthia okay?"

"Yes, she is made of stronger stuff than I thought."

"Are _you_ okay?" His voice was much more concerned when posing this question. She suddenly realized that the boy knew much more than he had let on.

"That. . .is to be continued," she answered truthfully, waiting as the elevator ascended to take her home.


	11. Chapter 11

_Hi kids, thanks for all your encouragement, and my apologies for the delay! This ending is short but sweet. I tried to stay true to the characters and give these two idiots the opportunity to say everything that needed to be said. This story is over, but I'm hardly done with them, so future prompts are always appreciated. - kathleen_

For the next month, three was Sharon's magic number. Three people in the break room. Three people in the interview room. Three people in her office. Three was cautious, benign, and by the book. Poor Amy must have thought she was really climbing the ranks, as Sharon tugged her along like a life raft in case things got hazardous. By the second month, the handsome hazard had gotten the hint and started voluntarily floating off to complete tasks that led him as far away from her as possible. She wasn't sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved, so she settled on distracted. Save the occasional episode in the elevator where her heart would starts its engines only to have the doors slide open to an unfamiliar face.

Rusty was her opportune third at the condo, but before the milk in her refrigerator could go bad, her blonde buildingmate had moved onto a younger and more attentive male distraction. A distraction whose attempted high fives in the elevator with Rusty were always met with a gigantic eye roll from the teenager.

Despite all her meticulous strategy, Sharon had somehow managed to overlook the reality that phone calls were for two people, not three. And on one Saturday afternoon, by the third ring, she had managed to slip her cell phone into Rusty's palm, mumbling some excuse she knew he wouldn't believe.

"Hello? Yeah she's in the. . .shower right now. What should I tell her?" He scowled at her disapprovingly as he listened to the instructions. "Okay, thanks Lieutenant." He tossed the phone over the back of the couch.

"What did he say?"

"If you were so interested, then you should have picked up."

Her standby maternal hand-on-hip gesture sent him sighing.

"A body found at Grand Hope Park. It's your turn on the rotation."

"That's all he said?"

"Yes Sharon, and for the record, I'm not your secretary. I'm pretty sure it's against the rules for me to know about this stuff anyway."

Sharon nodded in guilt as he retreated down the hallway, the double meaning in his words apparent.

The third time her car passed by the park, she finally spotted him. Perched alone on the edge of a bench by the playground, hands fidgeting nervously as he glanced at his watch. Part of her had suspected that there was no crime scene, but she realized that succumbing to her urge to flee would make it one, with her as the perpetrator. So she took a deep breath and found a place to park.

"Do you remember the last time I had to come to this park?" he asked, scooting over to make room for her as she ducked under the shade of the tree and brushed the dirt off of her heels.

She hesitated slightly before sat down, leaving enough space for a third person between them. "I remember the report about you shoving a suspect's nose into that sidewalk, if that's what you mean."

"Hey. He ran, I tripped," he gestured as he recreated the event with his hands, "and it was an accident. Totally unnecessary for FID to deal with it."

"Yes, I don't recall you being very apologetic when I read your statement."

She heard him chuckle. "The very next day, I show up to work, sore as hell and groaning from the bruises I earned, rather courageously I might add. And there's this bright orange memo on my desk staring up at me, from this Sergeant I had never met. Told me I had 24 hours to clean up the blood off the sidewalk. And to top it off, I had to pick up litter in the park for two weeks as penance. Raydor or something was her name. I had never met her, but I'd heard plenty."

Eyes still pointed straight ahead, she allowed herself a small smile as she hummed at the memory. "I was a little surprised when you didn't show up to complain about it."

"And get two more weeks of trash duty? I'm not that crazy."

Her mouth fell open to suggest that she would have given him four more, but for once common sense and curiosity kept her quiet. A couple of kids on skateboards whizzed past them.

"Although I kind of wish I had stormed downstairs like a moron. Then I wouldn't have been thinking about what a hardass you were while I was fishing cigarette butts out of that fountain."

"You wouldn't?" She finally looked over at him.

"No, I would have been thinking about how damn beautiful you are."

"Andy." Her voice shook as she shot up off the bench, feeling her heart zoom ahead before her brain could catch up.

"No, sit down. You don't get to leave this time. I'm ready and you're going to take my statement."

"Your statement? This is not a. . ."

"Yes it is, and we're both guilty as hell but at least I have the guts now to talk about it."

Sharon groaned a little and plopped back down beside him. "If this is your idea of romance," her arms crossed in defense, "You're going to need some practice."

His fingers rubbed his eyes in frustration. "Well at least I'm not acting like you have the fucking plague, which is what you've been doing for the past two months."

Silence fell over them again. Her eyes roamed across the park, landing on an elderly couple in exercise clothes starting their first slow but steady lap of the afternoon. Suddenly she realized she was laughing out loud, and Andy was looking quite puzzled.

"Is this how we'd be together?" she asked, scooting a little closer. "You'd complement me and then we'd yell at each other for the entire night?"

He smiled at the thought. "Not the entire night. At some point you'd let me kiss you. And then we'd end up—"

Her hand shot up front of his face to stop his train of thought, his grin rotating into concern.

"Come on Sharon, what do you want me to say?"

She decided to try the honest part of her head. "I just need you to tell me that this isn't just about Cynthia."

He rolled his eyes. "Cynthia was an idiotic attempt to. . .well let's just say to distract myself from dangerous thoughts."

"Thoughts like you wanted to sleep with your boss?"

"Oh no, I was always okay with those. Gets you through the paperwork days."

He caught her arm as she attempted to stand up again, gently pulling her back down on the bench. "No, I'm talking about thoughts like. . .I would march my ass to HR to retire tomorrow if that's what it took. Thoughts like, I love you and I'm crazy enough to think that one day you might stop yelling at me long enough to believe it."

She raised her eyebrows. "You can't just _tell_ me you love me."

"I can't?"

"No," she lied, certain the stubborn thumping in her chest would rat her out. "Aren't you supposed to ask me out on a date or something first?"

"I thought you liked it when things didn't have to go through a big trial," he grinned, casually throwing an arm across the back of the bench.

"So I'm just supposed to accept your plea."

"Absolutely. Feel free to go ahead charge me with being an idiot."

"That seems kind of harsh, doesn't it?" Her eyes drifted down, watching her hand settle in his.

"Well then what seems appropriate to you, Captain?"

"Hmm." She glanced up at the skeleton of the skyline as she finally, timidly, allowed herself the space for hope. "Maybe ask me out to dinner sometime?"

"Ya know I think I could manage that. I was looking for an excuse to call you anyway."


End file.
